


symbiotic

by 1500birds



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Talon Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, The Mug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-15 12:50:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11231355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1500birds/pseuds/1500birds
Summary: Something about the doctor smells like death.Widowmaker doesn’t really pay attention when she walks through the halls of headquarters- none of the other operatives mean anything to her, so she doesn’t bother looking. But when she suddenly smells antiseptic and decay, a scent so potent and sharp that it sends a chill down her spine, she gives pause. She turns and sees the blonde hair, the long lab coat, and recognizes her immediately.“Angela Ziegler,” she says, looking the doctor up and down. There was a bit of dried blood on her collar. Widow wonders if it was from an unlucky patient. “I can’t seem to think of a reason why you’re here.”talon mercymaker au without much of a plot





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the implied/referenced suicide attempt tag and the implied/reference alcohol abuse tag are both for later chapters
> 
> also please note i have nearly 5k words written for this fic already, so updates should hopefully be steady.

Something about the doctor smells like death.

Widowmaker doesn’t really pay attention when she walks through the halls of headquarters- none of the other operatives mean anything to her, so she doesn’t bother looking. But when she suddenly smells antiseptic and decay, a scent so potent and sharp that it sends a chill down her spine, she gives pause. She turns and sees the blonde hair, the long lab coat, and recognizes her immediately.

The doctor stops when she does, several paces away. She turns her head, slightly, not enough to actually see Widow, but enough to make it clear she knows she’s being stared at. Widowmaker hears a quiet huff of- laughter? Distain?- before the doctor turns and resumes walking away.

* * *

 

She doesn’t see the doctor again until a mission debriefing. Widowmaker pays more attention to her than she does the speaker. The doctor notices, turns her head to meet her eyes, and smirks. Widow narrows her eyes, but doesn’t look away. The doctor breaks first, looking away, but Widow doesn’t feel like she won.

When the briefing’s over, she stops the doctor on her way out.

“Angela Ziegler,” she says, looking the doctor up and down. There was a bit of dried blood on her collar. Widow wonders if it was from an unlucky patient. “I can’t seem to think of a reason why you’re here.”

Ziegler seems to look past her for a moment, before meeting Widowmaker’s gaze with an amused glint in her eyes. “I’m consulting. They’re paying quite a bit for my machines.”

“They’re paying you to turn people into weapons,” Widowmaker says. She’s seen the doctor’s work. The soldiers she works on get healed, sure, but they’re never quite the same. “I was under the impression you were into saving people.”

“I was. Once.” Ziegler’s lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, and from her pocket she pulls a carton of cigarettes and extracts one. When she brings it to her lips and raises her lighter, Widowmaker notices the bluish tint to her fingertips, the too-apparent lines of her veins in her hands.

She doesn’t comment, and instead asks, “What happened?”

Ziegler takes a long drag before answering. “After working over open bodies for so long, dragging souls back from death’s door, I realized… the world doesn’t deserve saving.” She pauses, looks away, lets a wry half-smile ghost across her lips. “People are pathetic. Cowardly. Cruel. These people, this world doesn’t deserve my blood and sweat.” Another pause. “It deserves to die.”

Widowmaker stares at her as she smokes, studies the light bags under her eyes. “You’ve changed quite a bit, Doctor Ziegler.”

The doctor turns back, drags her eyes up and down Widow’s body before meeting her eyes and offering another small smile. “So have you.”

Widowmaker is almost,  _ almost _ tempted to smile back when a bit of blood begins to slide down out of Ziegler’s nose, a little too dark, especially against her pale skin. “Doctor? Are you alright?”

“What?” The doctor raises her other hand to her face, looks at the blood that comes away. “Ah. That happens. Excuse me, Amélie.” She turns and walks quickly away, dabbing at her nose, trailing smoke behind her.

Widowmaker watches her go in silence.

It’d been awhile since anyone knew her name to call her by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will probs be up thursday (6/22)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Doctor?”  
> “Hm?” Ziegler turns her head to look at her, raising her eyes.  
> “I’m wounded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its a bit late  
> also fun note: i have no idea how or when i'll end this bc i didn't plan where i was going w it. i have about 4 more chapters after this one written but idk how much, if any, will come after those ones

            She gets sloppy on a mission, gets clipped by a bullet. Her near-absent heartrate keeps her from bleeding too bad; she finishes the mission with ease, lays down cover fire so the frontline can get in and out without issue. No one really notices the blood on her side, even on the helicopter back to headquarters, so she walks herself to the medbay, where Ziegler has claimed the area for her own.

            When she walks in, the doctor is sitting at her desk, back mostly to the door and chin propped up in a hand as she gazed at a holo display of some sort of machine. Widowmaker walks up to her, but the doctor doesn’t acknowledge her or even seem to notice she’s there.

            “Doctor?”

            “Hm?” Ziegler turns her head to look at her, raising her eyes.

            “I’m wounded.”

            The doctor trails her eyes down. “So you are.” She sounds disinterested, and taps the holo away before tapping her desk. “Sit.”

            Widowmaker hesitates before turning and lifting herself onto the desk. Ziegler opens a drawer and snaps on a glove before pulling her bodysuit away from the wound. The bullet had carved a line just under Widow’s ribcage, deep, but not an actual puncture. There’s no gentleness in the probe of the doctor’s fingers against the wound, sliding through the blood; Widow doesn’t let herself make a sound, only grits her teeth.

            “Just making sure the bullet didn’t lodge,” Ziegler says before reaching back into the drawer.

            There’s no warning before Ziegler jabs a thick needle into the meat of her thigh; Widow can’t hold back the small gasp of pain. She looks down as the doctor pushes the plunger, and catches a glimpse of half a smile on Ziegler’s face before she’s distracted by her wound. There’s a faint yellow glow as the skin is pulled closed, and within seconds the only remnant the gash is the dried blood.

            Widow moves to slide off the desk, but the doctor presses her clean hand against her hip and says, “Wait.”

            “What?”

            The doctor doesn’t reply, just studies the wound before looking up at Widows eyes. “I didn’t know if my machines would affect your… conditioning,” the doctor explains, as she snaps off the soiled glove before reaching out and pressing her fingers to Widow’s pulse point. Widowmaker narrows her eyes- the doctor’s hands aren’t hot- they’re warmer than her own body temperature, but Widow knows they’re far too cool for a normal human’s.

            “Why are you cold?”

            Ziegler freezes, though nothing in her facial expression changes, even as she slowly pulls her fingers away from Widowmaker’s throat. She rests her hand on Widow’s thigh, the other still against her hip, and smirks up at her. “I’m surprised you actually asked. Most people pretend they don’t notice anything amiss with their doctor.”

            “I think we’re past pretending either of us are most people,” Widowmaker points out, and Ziegler lets out a little huff of laughter.

            The doctor looks away before she speaks again, her thumb rubbing absent circles against Widowmaker’s thigh. When she does speak, it’s a neutral, impassive tone. “Nanomachines require quite a bit of human testing.” Widow expects her to continue, but instead Ziegler just pulls away, her fingers sliding across the latex of the bodysuit. She stands and uses the soiled glove to pick up the spent nanomachine syringe and dumps them in a biohazard can next to her desk before tapping the holo display back on.

            “If that’s all you needed, Amélie, you may leave.”

            Widowmaker waits for a moment, but the doctor doesn’t acknowledge her again, just stares absently at the display, so she slides off the desk and begins to walk away. At the door, Widow pauses, looks behind her at the doctor.

            “Thank you,” she says.

            Ziegler doesn’t turn, but she does smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will update... tomorrow or the next day (6/24 or 6/25)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker goes to Sombra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter includes a brief description of a person overdosing on drugs. the person does not die, but i wanted to announce it in case of triggers.
> 
> late, as usual, but at least you get some revelations!

            Widowmaker goes to Sombra.

            The hacker has a complex setup in the Talon base, even though she’s only there when she actually wants to be- which is barely ever. One wall is covered in screens with a matching desk covered in wires and devices. Widowmaker finds her sitting at the desk, pawing at a holopad and tapping her foot as music plays from unseen speakers.

            “Sombra,” Widowmaker greets as she enters without knocking- she knows Sombra already knew she was coming.

            “ _Hola, chica_ ,” the hacker greets, tapping whatever she was looking at away and turning to her guest. “What can I do for you?”

            Widowmaker has always appreciated that Sombra never bothered to beat around the bush with her. “What do you know about Angela Ziegler?”

            Sombra’s eyebrows shoot up and a grimace crosses her face. “ _That_ one, huh? She’s a real piece of work, why you wanna know about her?”

            “ _Sombra._ ”

            “Right, don’t ask questions.” She taps at her holopad for a moment before speaking again. “So, you know how she’s like, hot? Like, super hot?”

            “I… what? I wouldn’t-“

            “I mean, not that a 37-year-old woman can’t be hot- oh, and I did notice your hesitation- but she looks like she’s still in her late 20s. _Chica_ ’s either got the best skin care routine in the world, or something’s up.” Sombra swiped across the display, and immediately the screens on her wall it up with different articles in several languages, all featuring Angela Ziegler’s name or face. “She was a genius, went to med school when she was seventeen. Went into medical research and eventually started work on those nanomachines she’s so fond of now- caught Overwatch’s eye, and they were rumored to have ties, but nothing official. But that doesn’t explain how she got here, does it?”

            “Cut to the chase, Sombra,” Widowmaker warned.

            “Yes, yes, patience.” Sombra tapped at her display and some articles were replaced with images- blueprints of the machines, grainy photos ripped from security cameras showing Ziegler’s lab. On the center screen, a low-quality video started playing. “It’s hard to get funding for something so experimental, ja? Not even Overwatch was willing to put its neck out for her more daring and dangerous human experiments.”

            In the video, a younger Angela Ziegler sat at a desk chair, her shirt removed so she sat in only her pants and a sports bra. Despite the low resolution, Widowmaker could see she was pale and drenched in sweat, eyes drawn and chest heaving as she breathed. Her voice crackled through Sombra’s speakers, sounding shaky and forced, “…grams of ketamine was ingested approximately three minutes ago, effects are… present and increasing… injecting machines now.” She retrieved a syringe from out of frame, pulled the cap off of it and jammed it into her upper arm without hesitation.

            Angela starts slumping into her chair, blood beginning to dribble out of her nose as her other hand raised to her chest, grabbing at her skin and drawing her nails across where her heart would be, her breaths escaping in choked heaves. She braces her hand on her desk to keep herself upright. Finally, a warm glow comes from under the doctor’s skin, and her breathing begins to even. In a minute, the sheen of sweat is gone along with the red around her eyes, and she’s wiping the blood away.

            “ _Merde,_ ” Widowmaker whispers.

            “Brutal, isn’t it?” Sombra says, tapping the video into a pause. “I’ve got a few more of that same sort of thing, and it’s all like that. If not worse. There’s been so many experiments, it really shows the power of her little machines that the good doctor is even alive.”

            Widowmaker hums her assent, looking across all of the displays until her eyes settle on an article with a photo of the ruined Swiss Overwatch base. “What’s that?” she asks, pointing.

            Sombra pulls it to the center screen, covering the video. “By most accounts, Angela was at the base, in the lab when the bombs went off. But the medical wing was completely decimated- if she was in there, there should have been no way for her to survive.”

            They’re both silent for a moment, until Widowmaker takes a step away. “Thank you, Sombra. You’ve told me what I was looking for.” She turns to begin walking away.

            “Is there something between you?” Sombra asks, suspiciously calm.

            Widowmaker turns to reply, and sees that Sombra’s pulled up a new image- Widowmaker sitting on Ziegler’s desk, one of the doctor’s hands on her hip and the other on her opposite thigh.

            “Of course not,” Widowmaker snaps back. “You know I feel nothing.” She begins to leave once again.

            “You can’t, but I wonder if she does?” Sombra says, and Widow hears her laugh even as the door shuts behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is 1500birds.tumblr.com pls come tell about this ship w me or badger me for updates honestly id love it
> 
> also pls point out typos or other things i won't be offended id rather know and fix it


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very calmly, Ziegler looks up and says, “I am having a heart attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obvs warning for description of person having a heart attack
> 
> idk if it's accurate but it was a subject i felt uncomfortable researching so i bullshat the best i could
> 
> ALSO this is the implied/referenced suicide attemptu

            The video of the doctor plays over and over in her mind for days- the blood dripping down her face, her hand clutching at her failing heart as she waits for the nanobots to repair her.

            She lasts a week and a half before she finds herself in front of the med bay’s doors. She’s standing there, hesitating, when she hears the crash and thump, and then she’s through the doors in a heartbeat.

            Doctor Ziegler is on the floor, trying to push herself up with one hand while the other claws at her chest in a familiar fashion. A broken mug is a short distance away, coffee slowly spreading across the floor.

            Widowmaker walks quickly to the doctor’s side, dropping to one knee by her side. Now that she’s so close, she can see that she’s shaking, her whole body trembling. “Doctor? What’s going on?”

            Very calmly, Ziegler looks up and says, “I am having a heart attack.”

            “What do I do?” Widow asks- her voice is shaking, just a little bit, she’s not sure why.

            “My desk- second drawer- there should be a dose there,” she says quickly, moving her hand from her chest to gesture wildly in the direction of her desk.

            Widowmaker rushes to the desk and retrieves the syringe, and when she returns Ziegler has fallen to one side and is pulling at the collar of her turtleneck. She groans, taps a finger to her chest. “Direct injection,” she wheezes.

            Without thinking, Widowmaker pushes her onto her back, cradles her in one arm, and shoves Ziegler’s shirt up and over her breasts, up to her collarbone. “Where?” she asks, syringe poised, and as soon as the doctor touches the location with her finger, Widowmaker stabs downward and pushes the plunger.

            It takes only a moment for the warm golden glow to spread under the doctor’s skin. Her breathing starts to even out, the shaking subsides, and Widowmaker remembers the video. Except the doctor isn’t wearing a sports bra this time- it’s far lacier.

            “Thank you, Amelie,” the doctor whispers. She looks up at her, a slight smile gracing her lips. “You can take the syringe out now.”

            “You say my name like you knew me, but we never met,” Amelie says as she pulls the syringe, setting it on the floor and rolling it away. Once she does, she realizes she doesn’t quite know where to put her hand- it ends up resting on the doctor’s bare waist.

            “No, we didn’t.” Ziegler leans her head into Widowmaker’s arm, her smile turns empty again. “I suppose I projected my feelings onto you. I’ve always found it nice to have someone call me by my first name, instead of Doctor Ziegler. Helps me remember I’m something beyond these machines. Maybe I hoped to remind you that you’re something beyond your gun.”

            Widowmaker frowns. “I’m not.”

            “I think you could, if you let yourself.”

            There’s a pause, where Amelie just grits her teeth and the doctor lays in her arms. Her eyes move across Angela’s eyes, half closed and relaxed, to where her shirt was still pushed up, then back up to see her smirking.

            Widowmaker pulls away. Ziegler sits up, smirk suddenly gone- Amelie almost misses her touch, _almost_ \- and pulls her shirt back down. “Would you give me a hand up?”

            As she pulls the doctor to her feet, Widowmaker asks, “You reacted quite calmly to a heart attack. Do they happen often?”

            “Only when I haven’t injected fresh nanobots for too long, so… yes, a bit.” Ziegler begins walking to her desk, still wobbling slightly. Amelie feels a small urge to offer her support, but she stands still. “It’s an unfortunate side effect of having your body constantly breaking down and being repaired.”

            “And that’s from the experiments, yes?” Widowmaker asks.

            The doctor gives pause, her face turned away, and then shakes her head. “You spoke to Sombra, didn’t you?”

            “She has videos of them.”

            “ _Gottverdammit_ , of course she does,” the doctor muttered as she sank into her chair and propped her chin up on a hand. “Yes, the reconstruction experiments have had certain… adverse effects.”

            “The nose bleeds as well, I assume.” Widowmaker joins Ziegler at the desk, turning to lean against it.

            “It comes with perks, too,” Angela points out. “I can smoke as much as I want, no cancer.”

            “Ah, yes, a few cigarettes between heart attacks makes the whole ordeal worth it,” Widowmaker says, rolling her eyes. Angela looks up at her for a moment before abruptly laughing, and Amelie is caught off guard by just how _genuine_ it sounded- she allows herself a smile as well.

            She waits until the doctor’s laughter subsides before speaking again.

            “How many times have you almost killed yourself?”

            The softness in her voice surprises her.

            The doctor barks out a short, bitter laugh, nothing like the one before. “Too many to count,” she says with a wry smile.

            Amelie meets her eyes, and something inside her feels suddenly very weak. “Doctor, I think we both know you _always_ keep count of such things.”

            Angela looks away, her smile wavers, the corners of her mouth twitching, but she doesn’t say anything.

            “I’m sorry,” Amelie whispers.

            “What for?” When Widowmaker has no answer, Angela shakes her head with a sad smile. “Don’t apologize. It’s simply been a long time since anyone asked me such a thing.”

            “I shouldn’t have.”

            Gently, Angela reaches out and covers Amelie’s hand with her own. “It’s okay. You being so… forthright is comforting.”

            For once, Amelie feels comfortable with physical contact. Widowmaker lets Angela’s hand stay there for a while, only removing it when she straightens to leave, but the doctor does touch her hip lightly, making her pause.

            “You are welcome here any time, Amelie,” she says, her stare intense. “My rooms and office are through that door. I’m usually awake, and I don’t mind company.”

            Widowmaker nods once and begins walking away. At the door, she stops again.

            “Have a nice evening… Angela.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also...... next chapter is where the rating is actually m
> 
> also some notes on my headcanons on widowmaker:  
> her memories are all intact, she feels just very very dully, and she wasn't completely brainwashed with like trigger words or anything like that. i think they moreso told her their viewpoints and slowly got her to accept them, then released her like "if u think were right... and u wanna take down overwatch.... kill husbando and come back" which is why overwatch never found anything "wrong" w/ her bc it wasn't sciency conditioning is was... slow. 
> 
> if you asked her she'd say she has complete free will and aligned w/ talon by choice bc she realized she agreed w/ their ideals


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She goes to the doctor two weeks later, in the dead of night, after she’s changed out of uniform into leggings and a shirt, when she’s restless and trying to not overthink things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its smut

            She avoids the doctor for a while after that, lets things have time to settle down. She tries to give the draw she has to the doctor little thought, but it seems to haunt her- she doesn’t dream, but she wakes with the image of blonde hair and lacy brassier. Talon had never explained to her the exact effects of her modifications- her celibacy since she was recruited was mostly self-inflicted- but genuine attraction had been a long-dead feeling.

            So she goes to the doctor two weeks later, in the dead of night, after she’s changed out of uniform into leggings and a shirt, when she’s restless and trying to not overthink things.

            There’s a plain-looking door in the back of the medbay, near the doctor’s usual desk. She opens it, finds a darkened hall and wanders down it, reading the signs on the doors- surgery, storage, bathroom- until the hallway turns and she finds light peeking out from under a doorway. When she tries the door, it’s unlocked.

            The doctor is sitting at a desk with a computer and stacks of files, tapping away on a holopad. She looks up when Widowmaker opens the door, her face tired but expressionless, watches as Amelie surveys the room. A full bed is pressed into the corner, with two pillows and the blankets in a mess. Next to it is a nightstand, on the other wall a plain dresser with a mirror, both covered in stacks of paper and dirty drinkware, and there was dirty laundry in a pile in a corner.

            “You live like this?”

            Angela lets out a snort of laughter and turns off the holopad. “I didn’t say you were welcome here for you to insult me.” Her hair isn’t in her usual high ponytail, instead falling wild and loose around her shoulders. She’s wearing glasses, but takes them of when she stands and leaves them on the desk.

            “Then what did you invite me here for?” Widowmaker challenges.

            She laughs, runs her hand through her hair. “I’m not quite sure,” Angela says with a shrug. “I didn’t really expect anything from you. Still don’t.” She looks around the room, seemingly lost, before going to the bed and dropping down on it- she crosses her ankles, like a lady. “You can sit if you want… I didn’t really think this far ahead.”

            Widowmaker watches her from the door. It’s the first time she thinks the doctor looks anything but coolly confident- she actually looks almost nervous, uncertain. Her black turtleneck is snug; her skirt rides high.

            It only takes a few strides to cross the room, a hard shove to push the doctor down- there’s no resistance, Angela wasn’t expecting it- she gasps in surprise. Amelie grabs her legs behind the knees, pushing them up and apart so she can kneel between them. She lets the doctor’s legs settle around her waist and then presses her hands to Angela’s shoulders, pressing her back down into the mattress as she tries to sit back up. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” Amelie whispers, leaning forward, face inches from hers.

            “Is this what you want?” Angela counters, her voice just as low, but there’s a waver in it.

            Amelie slides her hands from Angela’s shoulder up her neck, cradling her jaw. “I don’t know why I find you so enticing. This hasn’t- I haven’t felt this, done this, in a very long time.”

            “I haven’t either.” Angela’s voice is still trembling, but there’s no fear in it, it’s something else. “Most people aren’t interested in fucking a dead woman.”

            She kisses her, hard, sloppy. The doctor tastes faintly of cigarettes and copper, and the movements are familiar, but strange- Angela presses close, runs her tongue across Amelie’s upper lip. She responds with a sharp bite, earning a low sound dangerously close to a moan. Her hands move down from Angela’s jaw, back to her shoulders, sliding over her chest, and Angela arches into it, managing to grind into Amelie’s lap in the process. When Amelie pulls away, she looks the doctor over, takes in the flushed cheeks and the wild hair splayed across the sheets.

            “I can’t help but think this is what you were trying for this entire time, doctor,” Amelie says, pressing her palms against Angela’s breasts, squeezing gently, watching the doctor bite her own lip and push up into the touch.

            “I won’t deny that I was hoping,” Angela admits, her eyes staying closed even as she speaks until Amelie pulls her upright by her shoulders.

            The doctor only has a moment to look confused before Amelie is pulling her shirt up, and Angela helps to remove it entirely, flinging it in the direction of the dirty laundry pile- her bra is the same black lace one as before. Amelie then pushes her back down, returns her hands to Angela’s chest and goes for her throat when her head tilts back. Kisses earn her ragged breaths- sinking in her teeth earns her gasp that turns quickly to a moan when Amelie drags her nails down her stomach.

            Amelie trails bites down the doctor’s chest, puling Angela’s bra down to expose a breast with one hand while the other hikes Angela’s skirt up higher, delving under it to find her panties already damp.

            “It _has_ been a while for you, hasn’t it?” Amelie purrs before biting hard enough that Angela’s only response is another long moan. She toys with Angela’s hair between her fingers while her other hand ghosts over her underwear, watching in amusement as Angela ties to grind down on her fingers only to have them pull away.

            “ _Please_ ,” Angela gasps, opening her eyes so Amelie can see the desire in them.

            She pulls the underwear aside and Amelie’s finger slides in easily. Something close to a smile graces the doctor’s lips, her jaw falling open as Amelie moves it slowly. At a whispered “ _More_ ,” Amelie adds a second, curling them inside her to find that sweet spot. She watches the doctor’s face calmly, taking in every inch of her furrowed brow and squeezed shut eyes, her rosy lips parting with ragged gasps. Amelie leans forward and runs her tongue over Angela’s nipple before wrapping her lips around it and sucking. When she turns her head just slightly, she can see Angela’s fingers griping the sheets hard enough her knuckles turn white as her legs tremble around Amelie’s hips, heels digging into the small of her back.

            She comes apart so _easily,_ with Amelie’s thumb on her clit and fingers buried inside her, that Amelie continues, pressing harder, leaning forward to run her tongue and teeth up Angela’s throat.

            “Amelie-” she whines, one hand reaching up to squeeze Amelie’s shoulder

            “Beg again,” Amelie says, slowing her fingers just slightly.

            “ _Please_ , Amelie, I’m so-” She cuts off when Amelie bites down on her neck and moves her fingers faster, harder, curling them up just _right_ and runs her nail over her clit- The doctor comes again, squeezing tight on Amelie’s fingers and digging her nails into her shoulder. When Angela comes down, Amelie extracts her fingers, watches the doctor’s face relax, the rise and fall of her sweat-sheened chest slowing.

            After a minute of catching her breath, Angela pushes herself upright, scoots backwards and moves her hands to the bottom of Amelie’s shirt before she stops her, stilling her hands and meeting her eyes in silence. Angela frowns, looks searchingly at Amelie’s face, the barest hint of concern in her gaze before she offers a tiny nod and pulls her hand away.

            Angela removes her legs from her hips when Amelie moves to the end of the bed to stand. The doctor watches silently as Amelie straightens her shirt and heads for the door.

            “That’s it?” she asks.

            Amelie turns, raises an eyebrow. “We both got what we wanted, didn’t we?”

            Angela offers a shrug, but there’s a smirk on her face, too. When she says nothing else, Amelie leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to hold off on publishing this but i wrote a new chapter this evening and im so excited to get it out but i still have 1 more to publish before it so here you go
> 
> next chap will probably be the.... 8th


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly once every week, Amelie goes to the doctor’s quarters, but they rarely even touch. Drunk Angela, Amelie realizes, is an honest Angela, a doctor without her mask hiding her seething hatred for the world around her, her rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> important note: in this au, "mercy" never really existed, bc angela never officially joined up with overwatch. because of this, the valkyrie suit does not exist- but i figured she'd have at least developed the staff, though not beyond the stage we saw in uprising.

            She had thought that, perhaps, fucking the doctor would be the end to her fascination. Sex seemed to be the end goal for those around her; operatives in the past who had ever vied for Amelie’s attention had immediately stopped when she made it clear she had no interest in intercourse. Widowmaker had assumed that sleeping with the doctor would have some sort of absolution- like mission completed. And yet, she didn’t feel any sort of satisfaction from it, and the doctor only became even more interesting when she offered no acknowledgement that it had even happened.

            Angela still looked vaguely surprised and annoyingly smug every time Widowmaker showed up in the medical bay, whether she was sporting a wound or not. It quickly became antagonizing to her, that while she was trained to be able to read a person’s every thought on their face, Angela Ziegler continued to confuse and disarm her.

            Nearly once every week, Amelie goes to the doctor’s quarters, but they rarely even touch. Amelie brings a book, curls up on the doctor’s far more comfortable bed and reads while Ziegler finishes her day’s reports. Sometimes Angela leads Amelie out to a terrace and smokes, chains nearly half a pack together and asks about Amelie’s missions. Other times they drink together, and Angela talks about her work, or her youth, and Amelie listens.

            She discovers that when the doctor drinks, she drinks hard; an open bottle of alcohol is guaranteed empty by the end of the night, leaving the doctor barely past tipsy as her nanomachines work in overdrive to filter out the alcohol even as she downs more. A drunk Angela is a crueler Angela; she spits distain at her coworkers, at Talon, at the fallen Overwatch, and sometimes at herself. There is no emotion in her voice except contempt, even when she brings up the experiments, even when she puts out a cigarette on her arm after a smoke break and watches the golden glow heal her.

            Drunk Angela, Amelie realizes, is an honest Angela, a doctor without her mask hiding her seething hatred for the world around her, her rage.

 

 

            That anger comes to light only once outside of the safety of the doctor’s quarters.

            Amelie didn’t know that the doctor even went on missions- she had been hired for consulting and regularly showed so much disinterest in Talon operatives’ welfare that Widowmaker hadn’t thought they’d _want_ in the field. But when Widowmaker barely gets out of the way of a rocket and is instead pelted with debris that embeds itself into her skin, suddenly there’s a healing ray of light around her and Ziegler offers her a slight nod and a smirk.

            She wants to ask what Ziegler’s doing, why she's standing there in tactical gear with a glowing black staff in her hands, but then her attention is drawn to the battlefield, where the leader of the squadron is not so fast and doesn’t dodge the rocket. The splash of the explosion downs two other operatives, and a moment later three more fall.

            Over the radio, someone yells, “I need help! The doctor, _where’s the fucking doctor?_ ”

            When Widowmaker looks at Ziegler, the doctor is watching impassively at the fallen and dying soldier, a hint of a smile on her face. She touches the transmitter in her ear, speaks to the soldiers-

            “Could you last few hurry up and _die_?”

            “What the fu- _augh!_ ” The voice is cut off by gunfire.

            Only then does the doctor begin walking calmly through the dust and smoke to the frontlines. Somehow, no bullets find her, and once she stands in the middle of the battlefield, she twirls her staff above her head and slams it into the ground. The area around her glows with near-blinding golden light, and when it fades, the team is getting back on their feet, raising their guns again. Widowmaker looks through her scope to watch as the tide shifts in seconds, the enemy forced back, and Ziegler is standing in the center, a smug smile on her face in the middle of the carnage.

            Widowmaker lowers her rifle and opens her mouth to yell at the doctor to get _out of there_ , but the sharp crack of a sniper’s shot stops her. The doctor stumbles, and when Widowmaker looks through her scope again she can see a cracked hole in the armor of Ziegler’s cabon-fiber breastplate just under her right breast, out of which her too-dark blood begins welling out, barely standing out against the black of the armor. As Widowmaker shifts to look in the direction the shot was fired from, another one rings out, this time hitting Ziegler’s shoulder. The impact makes her spin, loose her footing, and she falls to the ground.

            However, the second shot showed Widowmaker where the enemy sniper is; she raises her rifle to her eye, inhales, takes aim, squeezes the trigger, and exhales only when she watches the enemy sniper fall. She points her scope back at the doctor.

            Ziegler uses her staff as support as she drags herself to her feet, unsteady as blood oozes down her abdomen and leg. Her shoulder plates on one side are shattered, the plates covering her ribs cracked- but she’s alive, and Widow knows that it’s only thanks to the warm glow flowing from her staff. An enemy comes towards her- Widowmaker takes aim, but before she can fire, the doctor pulls a gun from a holster on her thigh and delivers a shot between his eyes.

            The battle is over, then, the revived team coming back but keeping away from the doctor. They eye her mistrustfully as she walks back to Widowmaker’s side, blood drying on her armor, and says, “Back to headquarters, yes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love pulling in gameplay mechanics to fics
> 
> also please, please comment- i only have one more chapter after this written, so after that updates will most likely start slowing- and i wont find the drive to finish unless i know people are reading, and what's working, what's not, what you want to see
> 
> i don't usually beg for comments but this ones gonna need them


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reaper is waiting for Ziegler when they get back to the med bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all like angela just having bad times bc thats what i love writing

            The ride back to base in uncomfortable.

            The soldiers glare, keep away from her in the transport home. If Ziegler notices the hostility, she doesn’t show it. She closes her eyes and leans back in her seat, holds her staff close to her body. The blood had since dried on her armor, but Widowmaker still eyes it warily.

            Even after they land, Widowmaker follows Angela through the halls of headquarters- she doesn’t know why, but seeing the doctor felled by a bullet has left her feeling anxious, unwilling to leave her side just yet. She’s there as Ziegler strips of her armor, changes back into her usual turtleneck and lab coat- she hovers by her side through debriefing.

            The Reaper is waiting for Ziegler when they get back to the med bay.

            The lights are off when they enter; Angela walks to her desk and leans her staff against it. Amelie doesn’t follower her in and instead hovers by the doorway, unsure if she should even still be there, until she hears Reaper speak.

            “Ziegler.”

            Both women turn to wear he stands in the shadows. His head tilts to Widowmaker for a moment, before he fixes his gaze on Angela.

            “What have you done?”

            “I don’t know, what _have_ I done?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

            Reaper strides forward, his steps heavy and echoing. “That _shit_ you pulled on the field today. What did you do to them?”

            “I saved them, Gabriel,” Angela says, standing a little straighter, even as he towers over her, smoke curling from his feet. Widow stays at the door, uneasy, but she holds herself back from trying to defend the doctor, because she doesn’t know how Angela knew who Reaper was.

            “Like you saved me?” he snarls, leaning close. Widow can imagine his breath smelling of rot- and she thinks of how the doctor always smells, that scent of decay under antiseptic and perfume.

            “Only you would be so ungrateful for life,” Ziegler scoffs, and Reaper strikes forward, wraps his hand around Ziegler’s throat and in two strides slams her down on her desk, bending her backwards so the edge digs into her back and her feet scrabble against the floor in an attempt to support herself.

            Widowmaker doesn’t move.

            She can only see Reaper’s back, bent over Ziegler, and Angela’s legs, sliding out from under her. She sees him reach for his face, sees the mask in his hand, hears something between a gasp and a choke.

            “Is this what you call life, Angela Ziegler? Is this your miracle work? What you’re so fucking proud of?”

            The only response is a gurgle for air.

            “You didn’t know what the cause of your little miracle was, did you? Look at my face, Angela. Look what you did.” He replaces the mask on his face before lifting Angela back up by her throat and throwing her to the floor. Ziegler barely pushes herself up, hoarse coughs wracking her body as she sucks in air. Widow sees blood on her neck from Reapers claws, sees tears streaked down her face from fighting for air, and when the doctor meets her eyes, she sees the insult from her inaction.

            The sight of Angela Ziegler weak and crying makes Amelie feel nauseous.

            Reaper kicks at Ziegler’s legs, plants his boot on her hip to force her to roll over and face him.. Widowmaker notices that there’s no glow of nanomachines at work, even as blood seeps into Ziegler’s collar.

“Look at you. You’re a pathetic woman behind that guise of a saint,” Reaper sneers.

            “And yet still not half the monster you’ve become,” Angela spits back.

            “Oh, Angela, don’t bother. Everyone here knows that’s not true.”

            “You can’t kill me, Gabriel,” she rasps, getting shakily to her feet.

            “No? Neither of us are actually a part of Talon- just mercs for hire. They can’t stop me. Why do you think Widowmaker hasn’t even moved to help you?” He laughs at her, and Widow can see the rage on her face from her wounded pride before Angela turns to face him.

            “Well? Is that what you intend to do, then?”

            Reaper was silent for several long moments, before saying “No. You’re not worth the trouble- yet. I’d want to hear you beg for your miserable life.” He walks past her, bumping into her enough to make her stumble. He pauses when he stood in front of Widowmaker; she moves out of his way without a word.

            When he’s gone, she takes a step forward. “Angela-“

            “Don’t,” the doctor snaps, without even bothering to look at Widowmaker. “I know why you didn’t- you don’t need to make excuses.” Her voice is still shaky, still hoarse. When Angela pulls her hand away from her neck, Amelie can see the blood all over her fingers.

            Amelie stands in silence, and doesn’t understand why she felt the need to explain herself at all- why she feels guilty.

            So she leaves, and only feels worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter i have written. i've got rough ideas for things to follow, and an idea for next chap, but nothing solid- feel free to tell me what you really liked, or anything you may want to see.
> 
> thank you for all your support


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not until Amelie starts avoiding Angela like the plague does she realize how much the doctor had begun to permeate her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this took so long, but hey, check out this AMAZING fanart by koshkavinni!!! it really helped me get the motivation i needed!!
> 
> http://koshkavinni.tumblr.com/post/164006707841/just-some-little-doodles-for-1500birds-s-fic

            It’s not until Amelie starts avoiding Angela like the plague does she realize how much the doctor had begun to permeate her life. She finds herself wandering the halls when she would normally go to Angela’s quarters, finds herself smelling Angela’s cigarettes on her shirts. It’san uncomfortable shift in her routine, but she knows better than to try to go crawling back.

            She still listens- Widowmaker always eavesdropped- an old habit from her old life that was too useful to fade away. She finds out that the doctor had most likely been banned from field work since that first mission; Talon may not dismiss her for what she did, but they wouldn’t dare risk it again. What speaks the loudest is how _little_ Amelie hears about Ziegler. I seems that they were both becoming reclusive.

            “I mean, I don’t blame her,” Sombra says, her feet on her desk as she talks with one hand and grabs for chips with the other. “You pulled some pussy shit, pardon my French.”

            Amelie rolls her eyes, but even if Sombra is brash and annoying, she’s someone to talk to.

            “How exactly would I have intervened? He has as much authority to kill me as he does her- we both know he’s on his way to the council.” Amelie is sunk in Sombra’s bed, her head propped up on her hand.

            “Theoretically, but killing you would be dumber than killing the doctor. But that doesn’t really matter- what matters is the dirt I got on Gabe because of you.”

            “What?”

            “If you’d actually done something, I wouldn’t have found out _Angela Ziegler_ was the one to do all that nasty stuff to him. I had my suspicious, of course, but nothing confirmed. I should be thanking you!” Sombra twirls in her chair to face Amelie, grinning through her cheeks full of chips.

            “Please don’t,” Amelie sighs, rolling to lay flat on her back.

            “You know, I kind of missed you when you were messing with the doctor, but you’re miserable when you’re not getting laid.” Kicking off her desk, Sombra rolls over to the bed. “She really that good?”

            “ _Sombra.”_

“Sorry, had to ask.”

            “It’s not… my attraction to her isn’t about the sex,” Amelie says, running her fingers through her hair and staring at the ceiling. In the corner of her eyes, she sees Sombra raise her eyebrows.

            “So you admit that you’re actually attracted to her?”

            “Yes. She’s… interesting. A relief from these people, this place. I like that.” Amelie allows herself a small smile. “I like her honesty. Her anger. She’s so full of… fire, of passion, even if she likes to act so cold. It’s comforting… though I don’t know why I’m telling _you_ any of this.”

            “I mean, _I_ thought we were friends.”

            “You also think you’re friends with Gabriel.”

            “Would he talk shit in Spanish with someone he _wasn’t_ friends with?”

            Amelie sighs and shakes her head, but smiles for a moment before she remembers once again why she’s here.

            “What do I do, Sombra?”

            Shrugging, Sombra leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. “Just wait it out, I think. Give it time.” 

* * *

 

            Time presents itself like a gift- she’s sent on a mission, two weeks of watching and waiting and no doctor until she takes out her mark and flies back to base. After debriefing, she returns to her quarters, washes the scent of airports and gunpowder off her skin and finally changes into something actually comfortable.

            She’s curled up in her chair, in a plain t-shirt and shorts, reading a book, when Angela walks in without knocking. Amelie looks up, and watches the doctor survey her room with a frown on her face. The chair she’s sitting in is large and plush, positioned by her window; there’s a wooden cabinet, a desk and matching chair, with a large bed and a bedside table that houses a minifridge. There’s an open door revealing a closet, and another closed one leading to a bathroom.

            Angela looks absolutely scandalized when she says, “You live like this?”

            “What, did you expect a cot? Some of us have standards.”

            “That’s a _king_ sized bed. Why haven’t we met in here before?”

            “You never asked to,” Amelie says with a shrug, closing her book. Angela glares before walking over to the bed and dropping down on it.

            “You’ve been avoiding me.”

            “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” Amelie watches her, trying to read the doctor’s face.

            Angela looks annoyed for a moment, then resigned. “I didn’t. But this place is boring without you.” Amelie is silent, and after a few moments, the doctor starts talking again, her voice shaking slightly with the forced confidence. “I knew he worked for Talon, of course, but I hadn’t thought about actually seeing him. The biggest mistake of my career, walking and talking and furious.”

            “Your career?” Amelie repeats, narrowing her eyes. “Is that how you see him, a bruise on your _ego?_ ”

            She raises her eyebrows at the accusation, but shrugs. “I won’t deny that. He reminds me of how stupid I was- how overzealous.” She pauses, calculates. “But he’s also everything I know I am- the only difference is you can _see_ it when you look at him.”

            “It’s the same research, isn’t it?” Amelie asks, and Angela nods.

            “He just had less body for the machines to work with.” She looks away, out of the window, chews her lip. “I don’t _look_ ugly. I can brush off the nosebleeds, people can ignore the cold hands. I can hide it, from myself, right up until I look at _him_.”

            Amelie stares for a while, taps her finger against the cover of her book. “You’re very selfish.”

            Angela looks offended only for a moment, before it fades to just irritation. “Isn’t everyone?”

            “I think it’s just a particularly vivid color on you,” Amelie says as she props her book up on the windowsill, before uncurling herself from her chair, straightening and crossing her legs in a more formal position.

            “What do you mean?”

            “The Reaper is only a reminder of your shortcomings as a scientist and as a human being, you patients are just experiments to further your research and prestige. Even I’m more of a source of entertainment for you than a fellow person.” The doctor’s eyes arrow as Amelie speaks, but she doesn’t interrupt. “You’re honest in your selfishness, in your openness with it, even if you don’t intend to be. I suppose it’s admirable, in a way, even if it makes you dislikable.”

            Angela doesn’t respond at first. She puts her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, stares at the floor for a while. “Isn’t entertainment the source of all relationships?” she says finally. “We are attracted to certain people because of the reactions they stir in us, the same way we’re attracted to music or colors.” When Amelie doesn’t reply immediately, Angela looks back at her. “Is it wrong that being around you brings me joy?”

            “No,” Amelie concedes quietly. She knows that she’s not an innocent party- she liked being around the doctor because she was _different_ , in a strange and enthralling fashion, from everyone else around her. Entertainment. “I don’t think it is.”

            “Obviously, you’ve realized by now I don’t exactly foster very good relationships. Like you said, selfishness makes me unlikable, and I’ve never put much effort into compensating for my social shortcomings.” She shrugs. “I just _like_ being around you, and I liked when you came by.”

            Amelie breaks away from Angela’s gaze to look back out of her window. “Life is too fleeting to avoid what you like,” she says. “We both know that too well.” She stands, meets Angela’s eyes again. “Stay here for the night. I have a rosé I’ve been saving.”

            Angela cracks a smile. “Well, you know I won’t refuse fine wine and a woman.”

            Amelie just rolled her eyes. “Or a king sized bed, I think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm left a bit dissatisfied with this chap but i think ive polished it to be as good as i can get it tbh
> 
> shoutouts to koshkavinni and lenasapphicluthor on tumblr, they really helped give me motivation, and thank you all so much for bearing with me!!!!  
> as usual feedback is GREATLY APPRECIATED i hope i answered a few questions re:angela's reaction to reaper but please tell me your thoughts


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